


Hunter's Heart

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bounty hunter/captive, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), Kidnapping, Mentions Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, accidental soulmate au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Instead of finding a child the Mandalorian discovers his quarry is a young woman. The girl has been held captive and abused and she claims not to know why she’s being sought by every bounty hunter in the galaxy. Din knows she’s lying but for the first time he can remember he feels doubt about finishing a job.
Relationships: Din Djarin/OFC, Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Mando/Original Female Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), The Mandalorian/OFC
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you get major Firefly vibes from this plot, that’s because I am definitely flashing back to my Jayne/River shipping days as I write this. I love that Din is the fierce, strong bounty hunter who’s secretly soft and I just couldn’t get the idea of being one of his bounties out of my head. So here we are… as always, comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you to my lovely readers who keep me going!

The Mandalorian freezes as he takes in the image before him. He’d been expecting maybe a grizzled ex-warlord or a hardened syndicate criminal. Instead the quarry that’s caused all of this grief appears to be a…girl. A young woman. It’s difficult to judge her age. She’s slight, thin, weak-looking. She’s been chained to a wall and, if the bruises and abrasions on her skin are any indication, clearly abused. In all his years of hunting, Din has never felt a moment’s hesitation or a second’s doubt about his actions. He takes in criminals, they do their time, take their punishment, and he gets paid. He’s a necessary link in the chain. Not good. Not bad. _Necessary_. **  
**

Today he pauses.

The droid doesn’t.

The IG unit raises its blaster arm to take aim at the girl who is visibly quaking in fear. Din has no qualms shooting the droid. Killing isn’t part of the arrangement he made with the client. _Alive_. He is bringing this bounty in alive.

The droid drops to the floor, smoke rising from the hole in its central processor made by Din’s blaster. He watches the girl flinch at the sound of impact, but she doesn’t look up. Her face is pointed away from him and she’s huddling into the wall as if hoping to somehow fade into the plaster and avoid notice. The muscles in her shoulders and arms twitch as she crouches there, hugging herself and purposely not looking at the intimidating bounty hunter.

Din is momentarily at a loss for words. Normally this would be the point where he addresses the quarry by name, confirms the bounty and locks them in a pair of binders. But he doesn’t know this girl’s name, or why exactly there’s a price on her head, and she doesn’t look like she can stand let alone try to escape from him. He clears his throat, a rare sign of discomfort that’s at least distorted by the helmet.

“Can you get up?” he asks. It’s uncharacteristic. He should command her to get up and come quietly.

The chains rattle as the girl shakes her head furiously and curls into herself even more. He’s encountered plenty of fear in his career as a bounty hunter. It comes with the job title. But he’s never been…bothered by it before. This job really is cursed. Something just isn’t right here. Why do they want this harmless looking woman?

Din steps forward, kneeling down to get a look at her face through the tinted visor of his helmet.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out as if to grasp her shoulder before thinking better of it and letting his gloved hand drop, “I’m not going to hurt you unless you give me a reason to, okay? But you have to come with me now.”

She blinks and he watches as fat tears spill over her cheeks. A string of expletives march through his thoughts but he stays silent and watches her in a way he knows people find unnerving. The girl looks up at him, not quite succeeding in meeting his gaze but getting it close enough. She inhales shakily before speaking in a voice cracked from disuse, “Where are we going?”

Din nearly sighs in relief and reaches out to begin working on her chains as he replies, “Back to my ship.”

The girl still looks wary but she rises on shaky legs and holds her hands out for him to cut through the chains with one of his tools. He wonders if she realizes who and what he is. If she even knows that there’s a price on her head. He can’t believe he’s letting this girl’s looks get to him like this. He’s seen plenty of bounties who looked the part of the innocent. _What is different about this one?_

As the chains fall away he makes up his mind to be more practical. He takes a pair of binders from his utility belt and watches as the girl shrinks from him with a look of dread on her face. 

“No, no, please… No more restraints!” her eyes dart wildly around the room like a spooked animal. He wonders how long she’s spent in chains.

Din grabs a wrist and pulls her in until he’s leaning into her personal space and the girl is visibly cringing away from him. 

“If I leave you unbound are you going to come quietly? No escapes. No running.”

She twists her arm attempting to dislodge his grip. The Mandalorian tightens his fingers just enough to hint at pain without actually causing her any injury. Seeing the futility of the effort she gives up and nods in defeat. 

“I won’t run away,” she whispers, her head hangs down in submission. “I just don’t want anything else around my wrists.”

He releases his grip and watches as she gingerly rubs each wrist. They’re red and raw from the tight chains. Din feels a flash of guilt that’s entirely ridiculous. He quickly squelches it as he starts to make mental calculations for their extraction plan. It’s a long trek back to the _Razor’s Crest_ and the girl doesn’t have any shoes. He looks her up and down and she shivers under the impenetrable tinted gaze of his visor. She’s dressed in a threadbare beige tunic and dirty leggings. No jacket either. 

Din sighs and turns toward the blasted doorway, motioning her to follow, “Come on.”

Outside the courtyard of the compound is littered in bodies. Din eyes each form, sizing them up until he finds a little guy who’s close enough to the girl’s proportions. He bends over him and dispassionately strips the brown tactical jacket from his shoulders, tossing it in the girl’s direction, and then tugs the shoes from his feet.

“Put these on,” his voice is entirely unreadable thanks to the voice modulator.

The girl looks up at him with wide eyes and a doubtful expression. She picks up the jacket, holding it at length between two fingers and wrinkles her nose at it, “There’s blood on this…”

The Mandalorian just stares at her for a long moment completely motionless before he finally states, “Beggars can’t be choosers. Put it on. And the shoes. We have a long walk to my ship.”

She tugs the boots on first and is surprised by how well they fit. They’re not the most comfortable, especially without socks, but her feet have already started to burn on the sun-scorched packed earth of the courtyard. She glances up at the bounty hunter with a look of gratitude that may as well have been aimed at a rock for all the reaction she gets. She straightens and pulls the jacket on over her shoulders with a look of distaste but she’s at least glad for the protection from the harsh sun. 

“Let’s move,” Din commands, striding ahead of her and expecting her complete obedience. He’s not worried about keeping her in his sight. Her short legs and weak condition would make it too simple to catch her if she decides to run.

***

They’ve been walking for about an hour when the Mandalorian stops suddenly and she sees his helmet slowly swivel to the side as he takes in their surroundings. She can’t see his expression but his sudden tension is telegraphed by his wary stance and she freezes in place behind him, holding her breath in sudden fear.

The form springs out at him from a shadowy crevice in the canyon wall, leaping from above and immediately engaging in combat while two others appear from nowhere and surround him. The girl drops to the dirt at the first sign of conflict and starts frantically shuffling away from the danger, taking refuge behind a boulder. She watches as her captor takes on all three bounty hunters with efficient, powerful movements that make it clear that even three Trandoshans are no match for one Mandalorian warrior. He takes them down one at a time until there’s only one desperate hunter left. The Trandoshan races toward her hiding place and she flinches with the familiar anticipation of pain but it never comes. Instead he’s vaporized by a shot from the Mandalorian’s rifle just before he comes within reach of her.

Din bends over his fallen foe and picks up the familiar looking tracking beacon. He feels a flare of annoyance with Greef Karga. _How many damn beacons did he give out?_ He finds himself once again staring at the small woman cowering beneath the canyon wall. Her long, brown hair is tied back from her face but he can tell it’s stringy with sweat and grime. Her thin arms are covered in bruises and cuts. _Why does the client want her so badly? Who is she? What is she?_

***

They keep walking as the sun falls in the sky. Din knows the girl is getting tired. Every now and then she stumbles and has to catch herself to stay upright. It’s nearly nightfall when they come upon a small watering hole with some decent sized rocks for cover. When the girl sees the water she skips ahead, clearly relieved and thirsty. 

“Wait!” Din commands. He catches up to her with his measured, unhurried strides. The girl is standing at the edge of the water and looking up at him with an almost pleading expression. “We have to test the water first to make sure it’s potable.”

She nods her head at his sensible words and waits as he dips a small device into the water and watches the display. A small light turns green and the Mandalorian nods wordlessly at her. She falls to her knees and dips her hands in the water, cupping them and drinking. The sun has warmed the water but it’s clean and refreshing and she nearly moans in relief as she drinks her fill. When she’s had enough she dunks her whole head, scrubbing her face and running her fingers through her dirty hair. She can’t remember the last time she’s been allowed to use a refresher to bathe but this feels positively luxurious. When she’s through washing her face and arms she sits back and notices the Mandalorian just standing over her. 

The soulless helmet stares back at her and she feels a shiver run down her spine. She’d seen the way he incapacitated those other hunters in the canyon. He’s strong and deadly and he is now in charge of her fate. She‘s frightened of angering him but she feels the words bubble up to her lips anyway, “Aren’t you going to have some water?”

He lets an unnerving moment of silence pass before answering, “No.”

The girl’s brow furrows in confusion at his answer. They’ve been walking through the desert for hours, he must be thirsty…

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

“I can’t remove my helmet in front of another living being,” his voice comes out irritated and she feels herself subconsciously flinch away as if expecting to be hit for her insolence. Din doesn’t miss the reaction and he sighs wearily, “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

She’s silent for a while, contemplating his words. He has not hurt her or shown any sign that he wishes to…but it must be an act, surely? She can’t remember a time before fear and pain and captivity. She’s never met a person who didn’t wish to harm her in some way to get her to do what they wanted. She keeps a watchful gaze on the bounty hunter as he settles down on the ground and leans his back up against a boulder. She can’t read anything from his mask and that frightens her more than anything. She can always tell when one of her jailers is about to strike out at her and she’s able to prepare herself for the blow. But this man is a mystery.

It’s been so long since she’s been allowed to speak, though. Now that she’s started the words keep coming.

“Why can’t you take off your helmet?”

“I’m a Mandalorian,” he explains simply. “It is the way.”

Din notices the blank look on the girl’s face and asks, “Don’t you know about Mandalorians?”

A blush creeps up her cheeks as if she’s embarrassed by her ignorance. She shakes her head in response.

“We don’t remove our armor in front of anyone. It’s part of our religion.”

“Oh,” she answers quietly. As the sun dips lower toward the horizon she can feel the temperature dropping and she’s grateful for the baggy jacket that she pulls tighter to her body. The Mandalorian seems unaffected by anything: thirst, the temperature, the exertion of walking for miles without rest. But his voice is that of a normal man. And though she’s never been shown kindness by a man in her life, she can’t help the instinct to offer kindness when she can. “I’ll close my eyes.”

“What?” Din asks, startled from his own musings.

The girl takes a breath for courage and repeats herself more clearly, “I’ll close my eyes. I promise I won’t look. So you can have some water. You must be thirsty.”

Din narrows his eyes behind the visor and regards her with suspicion. He’s been contemplating the likelihood that her innocence is all an act. Who in the galaxy has never heard of a Mandalorian? He shakes his head at her, “I don’t trust you.”

The girl looks puzzled, “But… _you’re_ the kidnapper. _I_ don’t trust _you_!”

“What are you talking about?” he demands in annoyance, clenching his fists in the dirt beside him. “I’m a _bounty hunter_. I’ve collected you because you are a _fugitive_. And fugitives…are not trustworthy.”

“I haven’t done any crime,” she answers quietly. She shrinks down into herself as if his words are shameful to her. He supposes they would be shameful…to an innocent person. Which she is not.

“I’ve heard that one before,” he says with finality and turns pointedly away from her to end the discussion.

But his throat is almost unbearably dry and his tongue is heavy and swollen with thirst. _What an idiot._

“Come here,” he says gruffly. He walks over to her and grabs her roughly by the arm before she has a chance to stand on her own. He half drags her back to the water and forces her down on her knees beside him. He wraps an arm around her head and holds his gloved hand over her eyes tightly, almost painfully. “I’m going to take off my helmet and drink. If you move, if you struggle, if you try to break away from me….I’ll kill you. Understand?”

She starts to nod before she remembers herself and keeps still.

“Yes,” she says breathlessly. “I understand.”

With one arm holding the girl to his side and covering her eyes, Din proceeds to awkwardly remove his helmet with one hand. He breathes rapidly with nervous tension. He’s never been so close to another living being with his helmet off before. But the girl is right. He’s desperately thirsty. He sets the beskar helmet down in the dust beside him and takes a second to breathe in the chill evening air. His dark hair is damp with sweat and messy, sticking up chaotically around his head. His forehead is slick with sweat. He moves his hand upward and tugs at the finger of his glove with his teeth, pulling it off and letting it drop to the ground. His hand plunges into the water and he begins to drink. 

The girl is boneless in his grip, too terrified to move an inch. She lets her body move with his as he bends down to reach the water and then up again to drink from his hand. His armor digs into her back uncomfortably but she stays quiet. She’s never been so close to a man like this without the expectation of violence or… _other things_. She tries to calm her nerves by taking deep breaths and imagining that she has a different life. This is an exercise with which she’s very familiar. When the guards seek her out in the dark hours and assault her with their disgusting, foul breath and clumsy touches…she imagines she’s someplace else with a friend or even a lover. The dreams help her to stay sane. Now she imagines she is with someone who loves her and his arm around her is not a restraint but an embrace. The thought calms her and she’s able to forget that he’d threatened to kill her a moment ago.

When he’s finished and his helmet and glove are safely in place he lets her go. The girl scoots away from him and hugs herself. The temperature has dropped and she’s starting to shiver even with the jacket. 

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says simply before moving back to his place by the rock. She follows him, settling down a few feet away and curling into a ball for warmth. 

Din starts working on his damaged chest plate as night falls in earnest. He catches sight of the girl shivering in the corner of his eye and he once again feels the unwelcome clench of guilt. He pushes it aside angrily and focuses on his work. She might not be the type of criminal he’s used to capturing but she hasn’t been completely truthful with him either. There’s no way this girl doesn’t know why she’s being hunted. 

“Why does my client want you if you didn’t commit a crime?” he demands abruptly.

The girl holds her hands out, palms up in a gesture that could mean uncertainty or surrender. But she doesn’t answer for a long time and when she does the words are hollow with the lie, “I don’t know.”

When the Mandalorian doesn’t deign to respond she goes back to huddling for warmth. She feels the mistrust and anger roll off of him in waves before she can block them out. The lie leaves a sour taste in her mouth but she learned a long time ago that to tell the truth about what she is– _what they made her into_ –always leads to disaster. She’s nodding into a fitful doze when she feels something soft settle around her shoulders and she looks up to see the Mandalorian already walking back to sit in his spot across from her. She reaches up to pull the thick fabric of the bounty hunter’s cloak around her shoulders. It’s surprisingly warm and she feels a rush of gratitude toward him despite everything.

“Thank you,” she whispers. The Mandalorian nods minutely and goes back to his work.

The nameless girl lays down on the soil, wrapped in her captor’s cloak and feels her eyes finally close. She drifts off into a sleep uninterrupted by terror or pain for the first time since before she can remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much thanks to everyone who has read this fic and left kudos, you guys are wonderful and I'm so grateful. Here's the second chapter...enjoy!

The Mandalorian free falls off the side of the Jawas’ Sandcrawler and lands in the dust with a solid, crushing impact. The girl’s breath catches in her throat as she experiences a wave of sympathetic pain. 

That’s how the Gift often manifests for her. The Gift…the curse…these abilities her former tormentors injected into her. In moments of stress or heightened emotion she can commune with other living things, sense their emotions and even feel their pain. The scientists…her “teachers” as they referred to themselves…were never satisfied with her. She’d never managed a single bolt of lightning or act of telekinetic violence. But if she was such a disappointment why do they want her back so badly? 

Her captor still hasn’t moved. She regards his prone form and the idea of escape teases at the edge of her mind. The landscape offers little in the way of protection or sustenance…but dying in the desert will be a comfort compared to what she fears may be waiting for her from the bounty hunter’s “client.” 

But her conscience tugs at her as she watches his chest plate rise and fall with his breaths. She can’t remember her mother or her father. She doesn’t even remember her own name. There is nothing but her memories of her “teachers” and the “school.” But she feels something deep inside of her, something ancient and irrefutable, that commands her to help this man and not to leave his side.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

She falls to her knees in the dirt beside him and watches the flickering waves of electricity dance over his metal armor. 

“Hey,” she says, unsure of how to address him. “Are you…conscious?”

The helmet shifts toward her just slightly as he responds with a clipped, “Yes.”

“Oh…well, good. Can you move?” She holds her hands in her lap and quirks her head to the side curiously looking down at him.

The vocodor emits a burst of static as the man sighs, “Not…yet.”

“O-okay…” she says glancing around at their surroundings. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

The Mandalorian’s head is ringing and his body aches, but his thoughts are all on this girl. He narrows his eyes in suspicion as he asks, “Why aren’t you running? This is your chance.”

Is he half-hoping that she’ll run off? That his body will stay locked in shock long enough to give her a head start? Long enough to give him the appearance of honor in walking away from this doomed job?

The girl throws up her hands in disbelief, “I…I don’t think I can. Sort of like how you can’t take off your helmet.”

Din just stares at her in disbelief for a moment. Her hair has dried after her impromptu bath and the sun shines and glints off of the wavy strands. It’s lighter than he’d first supposed, more auburn than brown. Without the layer of dirt he can see her face now. The bruises from her previous captors stand out more starkly. But he can also see her rounded cheekbones and full lips. She’s older than he’d thought at first too. Probably somewhere in her later twenties. She looks down at him with dark hazel eyes and brows furrowed in concern. 

_How in the galaxy has this job gotten so…complicated?_

***

The Ugnaught is making adjustments to his comm antenna when they finally trudge up to his place. The sun is low in the sky and they’re both relieved to reach a stopping point after two long days of walking. Din approaches Kuiil while the girl hangs back. They speak in hushed tones.

“This is what all the fuss is about?” Kuiil asks, leaning past the Mandalorian to eye the young woman who is fidgeting and nervously scuffing her borrowed boots in the turf. 

“Apparently,” Dins voice came out matter-of-fact and light, not betraying the unsettled feeling in his gut about this whole thing. He keeps thinking about that pile of beskar waiting for him in payment. Do the job, get paid. This is the way.

Kuiil casts a disapproving glance at his erstwhile guest and shuffles over to the girl, offering his hand, “Come inside. You must be starving.”

The look of cautious uncertainty on the girl’s face as she takes Kuiil’s hand sends a stab of shame through Din. His mind flashes back to her wrists, raw from the heavy chains that bound her to the wall of the compound. How long had she been kept there? And why? The idea of being another in a string of captors in this girl’s life leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He swallows, raises his chin and stalks inside behind them.

He sits silently and still as a statue at the table while Kuiil and the girl eat their meal. He’s already refreshed himself and eaten in private. He listens as Kuiil gently questions his quarry, marveling at the change in the man’s gruff demeanor.

“How long did those bandits keep you, young one?” Kuiil asks softly, looking earnestly up at the girl’s closed off face.

She shrugs her shoulders indifferently, “I’m not sure…many months. I think.”

Kuiil grunts in response and then continues, “And before that?”

Din watches the girl’s shoulders stiffen and eyes shift to the side, they're reaching territory she doesn’t want to discuss.

“I was…on my own.”

“And why do you think they captured you? Why is this noble Mandalorian charged with bringing you in?”

Din bristles at Kuiil’s questioning. To question the reasons behind an assignment is a violation of the Guild code. Din’s already broken it himself by questioning her at the watering hole. It needs to stop.

“That’s enough, Kuiil,” he drops his gloved hand to the dining table, rattling the dishes and causing the girl to startle slightly. “I appreciate your assistance but this bounty is Guild business. Respect that.”

The Ugnaught shrugs and makes a dismissive gesture before returning his attention to his meal. Din looks over at the girl and finds her staring back at him wide eyed. When she senses his gaze her eyes fall to her plate and her shoulders round inward. She hasn’t touched the food.

“Eat,” Din commands as he gets up from his seat. “I need you alive.”

***

“Stay. Here.”

The Mandalorian snaps a pair of binders onto her ankles to prevent her from running away. They’re standing in a wide clearing outside the Mudhorn’s cave. The stupidity of this mission really highlights the doomed absurdity of this whole job. Din is already annoyed and on edge when the girl starts prodding at his mood even further.

“Is this a good idea?” she asks, her voice tinged with trepidation. 

“We’re not traveling companions,” Din snaps. “You’re my _bounty_. You don’t get a say in this. _Stay. Here_.”

The girl sighs, “It’s not like I’d make it very far in these.”

“That’s the idea,” he says and turns toward the mouth of the cave.

She watches him enter and awkwardly crouches down in the dust to wait. She wonders if she would even try to run if it weren’t for the binders. She’d had the chance before and let it pass… When she was at the “school” she’d fantasized about all the ways she might escape if given the opportunity. And when she’d finally done it–sneaked out thanks to a rare lapse in security protocols–she’d gotten herself captured by bandits six months later. Now she’s free of the bandits but captured again by a bounty hunter. Maybe she isn’t meant to be free. Maybe it’s her destiny to live in a cage and suffer.

She’s startled from her thoughts when the Mandalorian is suddenly hurled out of the cave. His body flies through the air like a rag doll and he lands in the mud with a sickening squelch. He’s followed by the largest animal she’s ever seen. The girl gasps and tries scooting backward but her binder-clad legs won’t cooperate. She watches with her mouth open in horror as the creature charges at the bounty hunter, lifting him with its massive tusk and flinging him through the air again. She watches as he tries to fight the massive beast. He’s tossed, pounded and nearly eviscerated. The girl’s heart leaps to her throat as she sees the creature about to charge one final time. The Mandalorian holds his last weapon, a dagger which will be almost useless against such a foe.

Acting on instinct alone she raises her hand and closes her eyes, focusing her mind and her will just as her “teachers” always told her to do. It’s never worked before but today, with her heart thumping in her chest and her body exhausted from stress and exertion, it works. She can feel the Force centered within her, the power of it racing through her veins and out of her fingertips as she levitates the impossibly huge animal. The only thought running through her head is that she must protect him, keep him safe, this man who plans to sell her life away for financial gain. There’s no logic to it but the thought is as powerful and primal as the force itself. She can’t deny it even if she doesn’t understand it.

She feels her limbs start to shake as the effort of exerting this much power drains her energy away. She opens her eyes for just a moment before collapsing into a heap. The last image she sees is the Mandalorian standing there, covered in mud with his unreadable gaze fixed firmly on her. Then she falls into deep, deep darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din deals with more guilt and uncertainty in the wake of the girl's intervention in the battle with the mudhorn. Can he really go through with turning her in? Well, put it this way: I want my Mando in that shiny beskar armor sooo....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! I'm so grateful to everyone who has liked, commented, bookmarked, etc!! This fic is kind of my special baby since it's not really that popular at the moment but I keep giving it all my love. You guys are amazing!!

Din’s blade sinks into the soft tissue behind the beast’s jaw and the Mudhorn gives one last shriek before collapsing to the ground, dead. The Mandalorian immediately turns from his fallen foe and sprints over to where the girl lies curled up and deathly still. His heart squeezes in panic as he drops to his knees beside her. There’s no room in his brain for speculation about what just happened, his only concern is making sure she’s alive and unhurt. 

Thankfully there’s also no room to ponder the reason for his alarm at the prospect of her being hurt. 

She’s unconscious but breathing. Her face looks troubled, lips turned down in a frown and brows drawn together. Din reaches out a gloved hand and brushes her hair away from her face. Her breaths sound ragged and labored and she’s clearly hurt, but he thinks she’ll live. Whatever that was–that miraculous power–it had clearly drained her energy. He grunts against the aching pain in his ribs as he lifts himself up and moves back to the cavern in search of his prize.

_Those little bandits better have a damn good reason for wanting this egg._

***

The girl feels so fragile and small in his arms. Under normal circumstances her weight would hardly be a burden, but with his bruised ribs and aching head Din staggers a bit as he slowly makes his way back to Kuiil and the Jawas. She’s nestled up against his chest with the egg balanced precariously on her belly. He’s wrapped her up in his cloak to protect her a bit from the jagged edges of his damaged breastplate. She hasn’t stirred at all in the hour he’s been walking and Din can’t deny the anxiety he feels nor the deep conflict broiling within him.

 _She saved him_. Din was prepared for a noble defeat, standing ready with the only weapon available until the very end. And then she’d somehow, impossibly come to his aid in battle, giving him the opening he needed to slay his opponent. She sacrificed herself to save an enemy. 

_This is…not the way_ , Din thinks with an anguished shake of his head. His victory over the Mudhorn is tainted, shameful. And now…he wonders if the same can be said about this job. The girl is his enemy, captured and defeated according to the Guild code and his own Mandalorian ethics. Now, though, he ponders her behavior over the last few days and realizes that she’s been offering him assistance from the beginning. She had two chances to escape and instead she stayed by his side. _Why?_

Whatever her motivations, one thing is clear. She lied to him by claiming not to know the reason for the bounty on her head. Anyone with that kind of power–reminiscent of the ancient whispers of the Jedi and the Force–is destined to be a target.

***

Din spends the rest of the day working on the _Razor Crest_ with Kuiil’s help. It’s hard labor and exhausting after the fight with the Mudhorn, but it keeps him from dwelling on thoughts of the unconscious girl tucked away inside the ship. 

When the work is finally completed he decides to take his leave right away rather than spend another night in this cursed place.

Kuiil mounts his Blurrg and watches as the Mandalorian walks up the entry ramp. 

“Safe travels, Mandalorian. I hope you find your way!” he calls out. 

Din turns around and raises his hand in farewell, “Thank you for the help.”

He punches a button on the wall and the ramp slowly closes. He watches as the harsh terrain disappears, a strip of scenery gradually narrowing until the ramp seals him inside the dim light of the _Razor Crest._ He turns to move down the cramped corridor to the ladder leading up to his bunk and the cockpit. The girl is sitting up on the tiny cot where he’d placed her. She clutches his cloak tightly around her shoulders and watches him with wide eyes. Din freezes in place for a second before he recovers and advances toward her. He just wants to get this job behind him. _This’ll be a lot easier once she’s sealed carbonite._

He stalks over to the bunk and looms over her.

“Come here,” he commands, turning to lead her over to the stall in the side of the hull that acts as his “freezer.”

They pass a row of already frozen bounties and the girl’s face cringes in shock at the tortured-looking figures. 

He stops in front of the machine and gestures for her to get inside. The girl backs up a step and shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“What–you want to freeze me?”

Din shifts his weight to one side, clearly uncomfortable, but desperate to maintain some semblance of his usual routine.

“It will only hurt for a second and then the next thing you know you’ll be waking up on Nevarro,” he explains, the vocodor masks some of the anxiety and guilt in his tone but not all of it.

The girl shakes her head and backs up further, stopping when her back hits the cold metal wall of the ship, “Please…don’t make me go in there. I-I…you don’t need to freeze me I’ll just stay down here on the cot and I won’t move! Or you can use the binders! You can put them on my wrists… They’ve healed a little, it will be fine–”

The girl is sobbing now and Din feels it like a punch to the gut. He tips his head back and sighs with exhaustion.

“I need to set the nav coordinates and then I _need_ to sleep. I can’t rest if I know you’re down here messing around–”

“I won’t! I’ll…I’ll be good. I promise,” she interrupts, parroting the words the bandits used to force on her… _Be a good girl, little freak… Be good for us…_ She shivers at the memories of their cruelty. Something inside her tells her that this man is different. _Stupid,_ she berates herself. _If he’s different why is he trying to force me into a carbonite freezer?!_

“ _Fine_ ,” Din relents. “But I’m using the binders.”

He takes her back to the cot and she sits down without being asked, trying to seem obedient and easy and not like someone who needs to be frozen in carbonite. He takes the binders from his belt and she holds out her wrists meekly.

The Mandalorian holds each of her wrists in a gentle grip as he attaches the binders, making sure to leave room for comfort, but not enough that she might be able to slip free. When he’s satisfied he stands up and moves over to the ladder, turning to face her before ascending, “Try to get some sleep.”

“Um…sir?” she asks, unsure how to address the bounty hunter since he’s never given her his name. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Once again, Din feels the now familiar burn of guilt in his chest as he steps off the ladder and opens a cabinet built into the hull. There’s a modest pantry of protein bars and freeze dried meals. He grabs a couple of bars and hands them to her with a bottle of water. 

He finally leaves her below deck and strides into the cockpit feeling, at last, like he’s got his bearings. He sits in the pilot’s seat, sinking into the worn leather and sighing in relief. He starts flipping switches and keying in the coordinates for Nevarro. This job has made him question everything he thought he stood for, but at least while he’s flying he feels centered and in control.

Once the location is locked in he leans back and stares out at the horizon as it rapidly sinks beneath the ship. The sky bleeds from orange to blue to black and soon his vision is swept away with the familiar beauty of the stars. He reaches up and removes the helmet, sighing in relief as the chill air of the cockpit cools his face. He runs his fingers through his wild hair and nearly groans in pleasure to finally, _finally_ be at rest. After a few minutes he gets up and trudges back to the small pilot’s room located just off the cockpit. It’s a tiny room with a bunk and not much else. He steps inside, locking the door behind him and collapsing onto the bed.

***

The girl is true to her word and doesn’t make a peep for the entirety of the journey to Nevarro. Din lands them just outside town and leaves her bound on the cot for several minutes as he performs some routine engine checks. When he’s finally finished and ready to go, he turns to her and finds her staring at him with a look of doomed resignation on her face.

“I…I guess it’s not worth trying to bargain with you, right?” she says with a pained little smile. _Is she joking?_

In truth the girl is nearly hysterical with fear. She knows this place, it’s where the _School_ is located. He’s taking her back there. Back to the place where she spent her childhood as a laboratory experiment. Where they tortured her and beat her and punished her for her lack of progress. _Oh gods_ …she won’t survive this time, she knows it.

Din knows nothing of this, but he sees the horror in her eyes and once again suppresses his screaming questions about the whole purpose of this bounty. His job is nearly finished and then he can finally complete his armor and gain the honor that’s his due.

“You’re right,” he finally replies, dry and emotionless. “Let’s go.”

He marches her into town with a hand wrapped around her upper arm. His touch is light and gentle, but to the townspeople he fits the image of the cruel, inhuman Mandalorian bounty hunter bringing in a pitiful fugitive. People either cringe away from him or shamelessly gawk as they move down the main thoroughfare of the town. The girl still wears his cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders and she clutches it like a comfort blanket. She doesn’t struggle against him despite the fear he sees written on her face as clear as day. She just trudges at his side, almost leaning into his grip for strength. She has the look of a condemned person which he supposes is accurate.

They finally reach the Client’s building and Din bangs his fist against the door, presenting an identification card when a probe-like security droid pops out of the door frame. When the door slides open to reveal two stormtroopers the girl shows her first and only sign of defiance. She whimpers in alarm and cold dread as soon as she lays eyes on the familiar white plate armor. She presses herself against the Mandalorian and tries to shield herself behind his body.

“No, no, nooo,” she cries, clinging to his back even as the troopers march up and seize her by both arms, ripping her away from him. 

“Hey!” Din exclaims. “Easy!”

One of the troopers glances over his shoulder as they drag her inside and sneers, “ _You_ take it easy.”

They drag her along the dark corridor ahead of him and for the first time he sees the girl behave in a way he expects of a captured prisoner. She kicks her feet and writhes, trying to pull free of the troopers. Her eyes are wide and dilated, feral with fear. Din usually finds these kinds of hysterics to be distasteful and beneath his dignity. But with this girl–the girl who saved his life and walked by his side to her own doom–all he feels is guilt. The farther he walks down the dim hall the more he feels the icy creep of panicked regret raising the hairs at the back of his neck. _This is a mistake_ … a little voice inside him whispers.

And then they’re standing before the Client, the perfect image of the bounty hunter come to collect his prize and the doomed prisoner limp and defeated. Din feels his whole focus shift as the old man brings out the container of beskar. Enough to make an entire suit of armor that he can wear with pride. Will he feel pride wearing it? Knowing what he’s done to acquire it? He’s worked for this for so long, though. Rejected physical touch, connection, worldly pleasures…all to pursue the path, _the way_. He deserves this.

Everything happens so quickly. The troopers are moving, escorting the girl around the table, and Din feels rooted in place, unable to take his eyes off the prize. He’s startled when the girl reaches out to him, the bundled up cloak held in her hands. He takes it from her, clutching the fabric to his chest, and looks into her eyes. They flash with fear and sadness and worse…perhaps he’s reading into it, but he imagines he sees a look of disappointment and betrayal cross her features as the troopers march her the rest of the way out of the room.

He turns back to the Client, “What are you going to do with her?”

The man’s eyes narrow and he looks at Din for a moment, taking his measure, “How odd…is it not your code to do the job and then forget? Take your payment, Mandalorian, and forget this place.”

***

In the alley outside, Din pauses and looks back at the forbidding facade where he’s deposited the strange girl. He rolls his shoulders and tenses his fingers around the handle of the container. He turns his back on the place and makes his way to the hidden entrance of the Mandalorian enclave.

He’ll forget about this place. This job. This girl.

_This is the way. Right?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Din's decision to hand the girl over and accept his prize, we learn a bit more about the Client's mysterious School and the girl's history. Din battles his inner conflict over what he's done. A strange and rare discovery is made regarding his connection to the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed and left kudos! I love writing this fic.

“So nice to see you again, Six,” the Director drawls from the doorway of her cell. **  
**

She flinches at his use of her “name.” It’s all she’s ever had to call herself, but she feels the dehumanizing insult of it and twists her mouth into a snarl, “Not _really_ , Master Director.”

It’s the most defiance she’s ever shown to her erstwhile “teacher” and yet she still can’t bring herself to leave off the honorific that he beat into his students at a tender age. The man’s face transforms into an ugly mask as he stomps inside and picks her up by the collar of her dirty tunic. He shakes her violently and her teeth rattle as he shoves her against the stark white cell wall.

“It seems that a few months of freedom have robbed you of some of your basic manners. But not to worry, Six, the stormtroopers will give you a refresher once we’ve completed your check up.”

The girl’s face pales and she sags against the wall. She can take the beatings, the injections, the exhausting tests of her abilities…but she has a mortal dread of the medical checks. The dark exam room and the doctor with his sterile coat and emotionless eyes…the prick of the needle and then… _sleep_. When she wakes after a check up she never has any idea of what’s been done to her and by whom. Her skin crawls and her imagination supplies likely possibilities. 

The Director smirks when he sees the fight leave her. He lets her drop to the floor and walks back to the doorway, turning before he leaves to say, “We’ve missed you, Six. It’s good to be home, isn’t it?”

***

Din leaves the Armorer’s chamber decked out in his shining new armor and he feels his whole bearing elevated by the beskar steel enfolding his body. Wearing armor is a central tenet of the Mandalorian way; wearing and maintaining armor of the finest quality–and earned as a spoil of battle–is the truest form of devotion. He holds his chin up as he turns down a dim corridor, one of many interconnected tunnels that make up the warren-like enclave beneath the streets of Nevarro. He feels the weight eyes following his progress as he stalks through the maze toward the cozy hole in the wall that is his room. It’s less of a home than the _Razor Crest_ , but it is a place for him to rest in privacy when he’s planet side.

His confident posture crumbles as soon as the door slides shut behind him. He slumps onto the bed and leans back against the cool, bricked wall. In his hands he holds a ratty bundle of fabric: the cloak he loaned to the girl back on _Arvala-7_. He tightens his fingers around it and feels a lump form in his throat. He has a new cloak, now, to go with the beskar armor. He should toss this filthy rag along with every memory of that cursed job. 

He reaches up to remove his helmet, setting it down on the bed beside him. With a shaky breath he brings the old cloak up to his face and buries the curve of his nose into the fabric, breathing in the scent left behind by his quarry. It smells of sun-bleached sand, sweat and something sharp and clear–like the warm, crisp water they shared at the watering hole. Nothing about it is particularly feminine or unique, but combined together the scents evoke the girl in his mind. Her spirit seems to flit into the room, standing before him like an accusing ghost. He wonders what’s happening to her in that bleak place. _Is it possible that she deserves this?_ He knows the true answer, but hides it from himself all the same.

***

Days have passed. She knows this because they dim the lights in the cell each evening and because every morning begins with a “lesson.” The lessons are all the same. She stands before the Director while he orders her to move objects with her mind or create force fields. When she was younger she was taught by older students who had managed to somewhat develop their “gift,” but after a while they gradually disappeared. And then her peers started to disappear. By the end it was only Six by herself in a row of empty cells. That’s when she’d made her escape. Now here she is…back in her tormentor’s hold and still unable to give him what he wants.

“You are strong,” the Director hisses to her. “Your body withstands the midi-chlorian injections better than any other student. You must have something to show for it! Try again!”

 _She tries_. Goodness knows she tries to do what he wants because if she doesn’t then the stormtroopers will come to her cell again and her cuts and bruises still haven’t healed from the last time.

She screws her face up in concentration, skin flushed an angry shade of red as she extends her hand toward the ball on the table and wills it to move, damn it! Nothing.

The Director sighs, “Well…I see you need more motivation, don’t you?”

Later, when the white armored figures appear at the door of her cell, she sends herself away. She used to visit imaginary memories of a happy home and loving parents or made-up fantasies of friends and lovers. She never dreams of escape or rescue, not during the beatings. The hope and longing would be too much for her, the disappointment too crushing. Instead she always imagines a beautiful haven for her little soul. Only this time she finds herself back on _Arvala-7_ of all places. 

As the first kick lands on her belly, sending the air from her lungs, in her mind she’s with her Mandalorian again. She curls up in a pitiful attempt to protect herself as more kicks and punches fall on her already bruised body. But her soul is free, held in the bounty hunter’s strong arms as he carries her through the desert. She feels herself rock gently with the rhythm of his stride, feels the hard press of his armor through the drab cloak, she even feels the warmth of his body despite all the layers separating them. His helmet is angled downward, he’s looking at her. She looks back into the expressionless black visor and somehow she’s absolutely certain he’s smiling at her with affection and…and…

 _It’s too much. It’s not real._ She knows it’s not real. But why does it feel so true? Why does she feel this connection to him, a man she barely knows, who kidnapped her and sold her back to the slavers currently beating her bloody? _Oh no…_

She’s abruptly, painfully, intensely present in her own body, withstanding a vicious beating for her perceived lack of effort in her lessons. They’ve cornered her against the wall with no way to escape the blows. She screams, cries, begs them to stop. In her mad desperation she cries out with all her soul for her Mandalorian, screaming a name she has no business knowing and yet feeling absolutely that it is _his_.

_Din! Din Djarin!_

***

Din shoots up in bed. His brow is slick with sweat and he’s gasping for air. He’s certain he heard his name called. Not from a distance either. It sounded like someone was crying for him from inside the room. Panic takes hold of his heart and he frantically scans the room, searching for an intruder in the shadows. But he’s alone in the darkness. He lets out a relieved sigh. The dishonor of showing his face after working so long and finally completing his armor…it’s unthinkable. But the relief is short-lived because he can still feel it…the tortured, piercing cry echoing in his bones. And he thinks he recognizes that voice.

He lays back in bed, trying and failing to steady his breathing and go back to sleep. His liquid brown eyes are wide open and staring, unseeing at the rough cut ceiling over his bed. He sees the girl. She’s alone and scared in a sterile looking cell with white washed walls and a hard, cold floor. She’s curled up in a corner and her body is broken, abused. He sees the tears on her cheeks, hears the sound of her soft, pained moans and he smells the sharp scent of her blood in the air. _Is this real? How can it be?_ But something inside him screams and furies at him that _yes_ , this is real and she needs him. It is his duty, his privilege to go to her. He’s never felt such certainty. It’s even stronger than his drive to follow the _way_. He gets up, lighting the lantern at his bedside and pulling on his pants and boots. The warm light washes over the lean muscles of his torso, shading his lethal body in a soft filter as he bows his head and thinks. 

He has to see the Armorer. He needs to tell her everything and seek guidance. Something tells him that his path is now joined with the girl’s. If that’s so then he must find her again. Honor demands it.

***

“So,” the Armorer’s tone is wry. “She is the enemy you spoke of. The one who aided you in your battle with the Mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din answers, his head bowed in thought. 

“And tell me again about the strange dream?”

“It wasn’t a dream. I don’t think it was. I heard her call out for me. I could see her and feel her pain. It’s…unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Does this…make any sense?” 

The Armorer pauses, angling her helmet off to the side as she contemplates her answer, “ _Perhaps_ …but it is very, very rare…”

“Tell me,” Din urges. “ _Please_.”

She sighs and shakes her head, “If it is true it is remarkable. A miracle, even. And your path would be clear. The ancients on _Mandalore_ wrote of a phenomenon called a soul bond. Two souls destined to meet and bond with each other. The two would recognize one another as soon as they met and a strange connection would form between them, allowing them to sense the other’s feelings, to communicate over long distances, perhaps. It was said that the two would feel inexplicably drawn to one another. Once the bond is formed it cannot be denied without great pain. Does this…sound like what you’ve experienced?”

Din’s mind reeled, “How have I never heard of such a thing?”

The Armorer cocked her head, “It was very rare even in the ancient times. Over the years it became even less common. I’ve never heard of it happening in all my days…”

He’s thinking back to everything that’s occurred since he met the girl. How many times had he questioned her motives, wondered why she’d never attempted to flee from him? And how many times, still, had he fought against the instinct to protect her rather than turn her in? Could this be the explanation?

“Speak, Din Djarin,” the Armorer commands.

He raises his gaze to hers and takes a breath before replying, “I think…I think this could be the answer. I don’t understand how or why. But the things you’ve described match what I’ve experienced.”

“Well, then,” the Armorer stands up and holds a hand out to him, “Your way is clear. You must go to her and protect her. _This is the way.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rescue, post-whump comfort, and some angst because of course. Information on the tenets of the Mandalorian Way and the language is gleaned from Wookiepedia. Thank you thank yoooou to everyone for commenting and liking and bookmarking and etc.!! You guys keep me going!

It’s pitch dark out as Din makes his way through the labyrinthine back alleys and toward the Client’s location. The idea that the girl might have been moved flits through his thoughts but he dismisses it. Somehow he knows in his bones that she’s still there…in the place where he left her. He feels the phantom grip of her fingers curling into his flight suit, hears her cries as she begs him not to turn her over to the stormtroopers. A hot wave of shame floods his veins and he quickens his pace. _She’s okay. She has to be okay._

***

The girl lies where the troopers left her, curled up in a ball on the floor of her cell. She must have lost consciousness because she doesn’t remember the end of the beating. She wakes suddenly, jerking her head up and staring wide eyed into the darkness. Her senses are on high alert. _Why?_ Noises. It sounds like a distant fight: blaster shots and crashing sounds. _How far away? What’s going on? Oh, gods please…_

She tucks her legs up closer to her body and ducks her head. It’s been so quiet here at night. It wasn’t always this way. Growing up she fell asleep every night to a chorus of whimpers, moans and sobs from her fellow students. In the year before her escape the sounds grew worse and then…then they faded away. _What happened to all of them?_ She was never allowed to form a bond with any of the other students but it’s impossible not to share a sense of kinship with fellow sufferers. Had they really all died as the Director implied?

The noise reaches a crescendo and then it’s quiet once more. But now the quiet feels strained, dangerous. She tenses her muscles, readying herself for whatever comes next–not that she’s in any state to flee or defend herself. The ringing quiet is so complete that she gasps when the door of her cell is suddenly blasted open and a looming figure appears in the doorway. She swallows a scream and scoots back into a corner, burying her face in her arms and willing the intruder to leave her alone. 

The girl flinches violently at the touch of a glove-clad hand on her forearm. She descends into sobs without looking up, mumbling pitifully while shielding her face, “No, no no no–I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry sorry sorry.”

“Hey,” the familiar, gentle voice breaks into her hysteria, “Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”

She peeks up and feels her lower lip tremble as a whole new rush of emotion takes her. _It’s him_. He’s crouched a few inches in front of her, his helmeted head cocked to the side as he takes in her battered and broken form. He’s _here for her_. She’d hoped and prayed and dreamed over the last few days that her Mandalorian would rescue her but the despair of this place had convinced her that it would never happen. The relief and gratitude is too much and she breaks down in tears again, but this time she’s pushing forward and clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and pressing her cheek against the unyielding cool steel of his helmet. 

She whispers his name over and over again under her breath and it sounds like a sacred prayer on her lips. Din’s body is rigid in her embrace. How many years has it been since he’s been touched like this? Without the intent for violence. Not due to the exigencies of battle or a job. Just…touched with gratitude and affection. He can’t remember. Slowly, gradually, he unwinds. His frame relaxes and he raises his arms to wrap them around her small frame, squeezing gently– _so gently_ –as if he fears to break her.

His voice–deep, even and slightly distorted by the vocoder–sounds close to her ear, “We need to leave now.”

He simply wraps his arms more snugly around her and stands. The girl tightens her grip on his shoulders and clings on like a youngling. She’s fiercely determined never to let go of this man again. How can she feel so strongly when she barely knows him? She can’t explain any of it. But there’s no time to dwell. He’s shifting her onto his back so he can move through the dark corridors with his rifle drawn.

“Keep your head down,” he whispers. 

She plunges her face into the fabric of his cloak and holds on for dear life as he glides with animal grace through the shadows. They’ve nearly reached the exit when two stormtroopers step out from nowhere and open fire. Din leaps behind a stack of storage crates, reaching behind to graze his fingers over the girl’s leg, ensuring she’s still holding on. He drops her beside him and motions for her to stay hidden. Then he’s popping up and firing back. 

A ball of nervous anxiety forms in her stomach as she watches blaster bolts skid off of his shiny beskar armor, narrowly missing the vulnerable places between plates. From her crouched position she has to crane her neck back to watch him and what she sees takes her breath away. The physicality of his practiced, precise movements is visceral and it hints at the truth of the man beneath the armor. He’s brutal and effective and he seems totally unafraid of putting himself in the way of danger. Though she’s afraid, hurting, and, above all, confused about the mysterious connection that seems to have formed between them, she’s also never felt herself more drawn to another person. How can she be so attracted to him without ever having seen his face?

She reaches out and places her hand around the ankle of his boot. Her touch is gentle and barely-there. She just needs to feel physically connected to him in this moment. An uncharacteristic calm settles upon her and she feels the peaceful, centered sensation that she felt when she attacked the Mudhorn. She pushes, just slightly, against the bubble of force energy inside her, willing it into her Mandalorian, willing it to steady his aim and calm his stress. She can sense it when the force blossoms inside him, when he recognizes her influence. There’s a hint of puzzled confusion but mostly she feels him respond to her like a magnet, calling out and bonding with her and drawing strength from their connection.

When it’s all over Din crouches down and gathers the girl to his chest, cradling her in his arms as he did on _Arvala-7_. He’s panting and shivering as the adrenaline in his veins ebbs and his body realizes that the fight is finished. He carries her through the carnage, pressing a gloved hand over her eyes to shield her from the image of the dead troopers on the floor. She leans her head against the smooth surface of his breastplate and rests her hand over the place where his heart must be. She imagines she can feel it beating for her, even through the beskar and layers of fabric. She imagines she feels the heat of his body holding and protecting her, too. As her mind wanders she starts to nod off, all along feeling the pleasant tug of her bond with the Mandalorian sing in her chest and comfort her to sleep.

Din emerges onto the dark street and picks up his pace. He’s sure that the Trandoshans weren’t the only bounty hunters given fobs. They both need rest and he’d rather not fight through a mob of blood hungry hunters to get to it. He feels only slight trepidation as he makes his way for the hidden entrance to the enclave. Bringing _aruetii_ –a non-Mandalorian–into the sanctum is taboo. But the Armorer implied it was his duty to protect her and Din does not hold social customs higher than his duty. No Mandalorian should.

They draw attention as he proceeds through the tunnels toward his room but Din keeps his gaze fixed ahead of him and holds the girl closer to his chest. The relief he feels once the door slides shut behind him is palpable. He staggers forward mustering just enough energy to place the girl gently on his bed before collapsing to his knees. He leans forward, resting his helmet in his hands and taking shaky breaths. His mind is reeling with the ramifications for what he’s just done. He’s broken the Guild Code, he’s essentially stolen from a client, and he’s painted a target on his own back. Before he met this girl he lived his life by the tenets of the _Six Actions_ and the Bounty Hunter’s Code. Now everything in his life is thrown into question. But as he sits here examining his thoughts and the intense, wild emotions inside him, he can’t find the resentment nor the regret he expects. Instead he feels a soaring sense of relief, accomplishment, and pride at protecting this girl his…his… _Well, what is she to me? The Armorer would have me call her soulmate, but…_

The girl stirs and lets out a pained whimper. He looks up at her and that’s when he finally takes in her condition. She’s covered in fresh bruises. Splotches of black, purple and yellow blossom across her face, arms, neck, everywhere. Din grits his teeth and clenches his fists. _What they got was too good for them…_

“Din?” the girl’s voice is quiet and strained. 

He gets up and sits beside her on the edge of the bed, brushing his gloved hand gently across her cheek, “I’m here.”

Her eyes flood with tears at his words. It’s a simple statement of fact and yet no one in her whole life has been… _here_ for her. And to have it be this man. This brave and strong man whose arms make her feel like no one can ever hurt her again…she’s overwhelmed and absolutely terrified that something will happen to ruin this.

“Where are we?” she asks. The room is bathed in warm, yellow light and the walls are made of some kind of earthen brick. If she’d had any expectation it would have been to wake again on the _Razor Crest_.

Din cocks his head and regards her with his unreadable gaze. She can feel his tension–his doubts as well as his certainties–but she wishes she could see his face.

“We’re in my room. In the Mandalorian enclave beneath the city. Trackers won’t be able to find you down here,” he replies. His voice always sounds so steady, controlled. She hasn’t known him long but she’s getting the idea that self-control is pretty deeply rooted. His armor is an extension of that–controlling what he reveals to the outside world. She feels it inside him as well; he keeps his guard up most of the time, rarely revealing his inner emotions even to himself. Yet she feels within him a tiny little spark of happy warmth and it–it’s linked to _her_.

She realizes she’s been musing for a while and he’s just staring back at her so she finally replies, “Oh…good.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. She watches Din shift and fidget in place, hanging his head before he says, “I…I’m sorry. For the part I played in this. I did not know that they–well it’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

She’s laying on a soft bed, in a warm room with cheerful light painting the walls and a kind, honest man at her side. The girl has never experienced comfort like this. How can he be sorry?

She smiles up at him and reaches to press her hand to the side of his helmet where his cheek would be, “I think you’ve made up for it now, Din.”

He leans into her touch and she feels a flare of surprised longing fill the air between them. He’s like a cat, rubbing his helmet against her palm and urging her to stroke him. She raises her other hand, pressing it to the side of his throat where only the cloth cowl stands between her palm and his skin. Din jumps in surprise but then he murmurs a soft, low sound of approval. He puts his gloved hand on her stomach, just resting it there. The need for physical contact is overwhelming. The girl has slept with men before…always unwillingly and always cruel and savage…but this touching is more intimate and more intense than anything she’s experienced. All they’re doing is laying chaste hands on one another through layers of clothing and she’s practically writhing with the _goodness_ , the _rightness_ of it.

“Din,” she whispers, dropping her hands to clutch his forearms, “Do you know what’s happening to us?”

He feels the heat of her belly against his palm even through her shirt and his glove. Her presence, her body feels like it’s locking him in place, into a destiny he can’t control. It’s wonderful and unfamiliar and _frightening_. He pulls away from her suddenly, shrinking from that chaotic unknown that she seems to represent. How can he follow _the way_ if he is tied to this outsider?

“No…,” he answers and his voice is different, strained. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adrenaline of escape and rescue has ebbed leaving Din and the girl to manage their anxieties, emotions and fears while also confronting the strange bond that has sparked between them. The girl calls Din out on his lie and Din gives her a name… and–as one commenter put it– “soulmate helmet rules” are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically Din and OC TaLkInG aBoUt ThEiR fEeLiNgS. Sorry if it’s too much talky-talk and not enough action! Thank you to everyone who reads and comments and leaves kudos. You are angels!

_“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

But she feels the uncertainty and confusion rolling off of him like waves of fog. How can he say he doesn’t feel it too? She knows this is something different…. _unique_. This isn’t the force…that curse that’s been shoved inside her veins with every injection since she was a small girl. The gift–as the Director refers to it–is never this strong; it’s weak and unreliable at best. She might be able to sense the vague echo of very strong emotions, but not the solid, tangible, real shapes of Din’s _fear… pride… anger… longing._

It’s not just that she can sense his emotions as if they’re her own. His presence, his voice, his touch…it all feels _right_. Not merely pleasing or comforting but as if her soul has come home, like the unknown thing she’s sought and called out for her whole life is here with him. It’s tangible. It feels like a cable stretches from her heart directly through his armor into his. The weight of it is a miracle and a comfort inside her.

“ _Din_ …that’s your name, isn’t it?” she whispers, looking up at his stern profile. She’s willing him not to shut her out.

He swivels his helmet toward her and nods, “How do you know that?’

She reaches out and lays her fingertips just barely on top of his.

“Because…I just know it. It’s like I’ve always known it and I was meant to find you…” her voice falters with doubt as she asks, “You really don’t feel it?”

He looks down at her delicate hand covering his. Her voice trembles with emotion and he knows if he looks up at her he’ll see unshed tears in her eyes. Din really doesn’t want to make her cry. He never wants her to cry or hurt again. The Armorer’s words echo in his head, _Once the bond is formed it cannot be denied without great pain…_

He won’t hurt her. He’ll never hurt her. But he needs rest before he can face all of this. He opens his mouth to tell her so and then realizes he has no idea what her name is. He asks her and the girl’s face goes blank for a moment as he pivots away from her question.

She looks distressed but she answers, “I–well, I’m called Six…”

Din blanches at her response, “You mean…you don’t have a name?”

The girl lets out a shaky sigh. She turns onto her side and curls her legs up toward her body as if to protect the fragile hurt within her at his questioning. 

“If I do, I don’t remember it. I don’t know anything about where I come from. All I remember is being at the school…”

Din shakes his head slowly and reaches out to her before he can stop himself. The weight of his hand settles on her shoulder and she closes her eyes, cherishing the contact. Can he not feel the thrill of recognition when they touch? Even without directly contacting his skin, it feels like something inside of her reaches out and binds to him at the place where his palm presses into her shoulder.

He squeezes gently and ponders her words. It seems monstrous and cruel that this girl has never known herself by any name other than an assigned number. She knows _his_ name by instinct and yet she has nothing to call herself. Din is certain–without knowing why or how–that he is supposed to give her a name. This girl held the knowledge of his name inside her like a secret compartment that unlocked the moment they met each other. Perhaps he carries hers as well? Feeling a little foolish, but recalling the solemn words of the Armorer, he closes his eyes and looks inside. 

_Who is she? What does he even know about this woman who’s somehow staked a claim on his soul?_ He looks down at her form. She’s curled in on herself and her eyes are closed but he can feel her emotions despite the lie he told her earlier. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced and it’s…unnerving. For the first time in his life he’s not alone in his own head. It’s like a part of her lives inside of him now. Her emotions churn in a confusing mix of contradictions. She feels warm and content, but also terribly lonely and fearful. He knows that she’s hurt by his refusal to acknowledge this thing between them. She fears losing the sanctity of the connection… and she fears losing him, too. _But why?_ No one has ever…well, there’s been no one else. It’s never seemed practical or necessary. But now…for the first time he wants it to be different. _Can he have this? Can he have her?_

His thoughts are aimless and frenzied until he remembers his purpose. He tries clearing his head and in a moment of inspiration he wills his mind to reach out and touch hers. He can’t explain how he even knows what to do, but it works. She feels like a pulsing flame that licks against the edges of his psyche. The girl’s eyes snap open and her lips part in a gasp. She captures his gaze even through the impenetrable visor and Din is lost. He leans down and gathers her in his arms,laying beside her and pressing his helmet gently against her forehead. He lets out a pleased hum as she snakes her arms up around his broad shoulders and his long legs tangle with her shorter ones. He just holds her. It’s awkward in his full armor but he can’t let go. They’ve been caught up in something that neither can control.

The girl’s warm breath fogs the gleaming metal of his helmet and she leans forward to press a kiss against it. 

“Oh, Din…you _do_ feel it,” she whispers, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck. 

They stay like that, souls entwined in a pulsing, intense halo for minutes or hours. Din has never felt so comfortable being idle. He searches for the answer to the question of her name but he finds that she _is_ the answer…to _him_. Where he is hard she is soft and–he suspects–the opposite holds true as well. Her spirit may be broken but he feels her reaching out and clinging to his strength, using it to build herself anew. The walls he’s maintained around his heart and his soul are starting to crumble. How long has he kept this distance from anything soft or vulnerable for fear that he would sully it? And this girl has conquered him in a matter of days.

Words flash through his head as he holds her. It’s a bewildering mix of standard and Mando’a. _Darling…beloved… cyar’ika_. _Mesh’la…beautiful…broken…shuk’la_. But one word floats up over the others and the sound of it, the feel of it rings with truth. 

Din squeezes his arms around her and his soft voice breaks the bubble of silence, “ _Runi_ …your name is Runi.”

***

It’s much later when the Mandalorian finally disentangles himself from the girl and stands up, groaning as he stretches his aching muscles. The girl… _Runi_ …watches him with wide eyes. A shy smile touches her lips as she takes in the view of his big, powerful frame stretching before her. Din moves over to a rack in the corner of the room and looks back at her, his posture is tentative and unsure.

“I need to sleep but…” he trails off but Runi’s eyes alight with understanding.

“You need to remove your armor,” she states. “How should we…”

Din opens a drawer set into the wall and removes a worn out undershirt. He grips it in his hands and tears off a long strip of fabric. He turns to her and holds it out with his head quirked inquisitively, “Would you mind? I’m…I’m sorry…”

The guilt in his voice stabs at her and she’s quick to nod her head in encouragement, “That’s fine, Din. I understand.”

“I know things _feel_ different now…Runi. But _this_ won’t change. It _can’t_ change. I can’t ever allow you–or anyone–to see my face. It’s more than dishonor I–I would cast out,” the regret drips from every word that falls from his lips as he leans over her and ties the blindfold, knotting it firmly at the back of her head. “How does that feel?”

Runi lifts her hands to run them over the fabric. It’s disorienting and a little frightening to be so vulnerable, but Din makes her feel safer than she’s ever felt in her life.

“I trust you, Din,” she answers, and falls back against the pillows, pulling a blanket up to her chin.

Din reaches out and clicks off the lantern to be certain. He stands there in the dark staring at the shape of her under the blankets and feeling entirely inadequate. She deserves a man who can show her his face. Who can allow her to touch his bare skin….

“Din,” she interrupts his spiraling thoughts, “it’s really okay.”

He reaches up with shaking hands and removes his helmet first, letting out a pleased sigh. Even though his armor long ago became an extension of himself, it always feels good to release his face from the confines of the helmet. He starts working on the rest of his gear: shoulder pauldrons, vambraces, breast plate, thigh and shin guards. He places each piece carefully on the armor rack. Finally, he kicks off his boots and turns back toward the bed. 

_Hmm._

He walks over and stands at the edge of the mattress looking down at her. Runi’s lips curve in a slight smile as she senses his gaze. She scoots over a little to make room for him but he shakes his head.

“No, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says and his voice sounds lighter and more immediate without the barrier of the mask. She reaches out involuntarily and Din takes a huge step backward. “I–I can’t. I’m not ready for…for that. I’m sorry.”

He feels the wilting sourness of her embarrassment and guilt leeching through the bond.

“I’m sorry, Din! I didn’t mean to push you!” She sincerely wishes she could just pull the blanket up over her head and hide from him. Even without being able to see him she knows he’s watching her dissolve into mortification.

“Don’t worry, Runi,” he says, wishing to sooth her. It’s just…this is all so fast and so much and he needs to preserve some element of his familiar isolation if he’s going to maintain his sanity at all. And he can’t remember the last time someone touched his bare skin. A part of him aches for it but another part of him quakes in fear at what it would mean. 

He spreads his cloak out on the floor beside the bed and stretches out his tall frame. He’s slept in less comfortable places. He lays back with his head cradled in his hands and stares up into the shadows. His eyes are just starting to flick closed when he sees the amorphous shape of the girl’s head pop out over the side of the bed.

“Din?” she whispers. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

She’s silent for a long moment and he feels her uncertainty through the bond. Finally she says, “Is…is everything going to be okay?”

Her voice is so small she sounds like a small child seeking comfort. And after the life she’s lived maybe that’s all she needs. There’s no way that he can know if things will be alright. There are still bounty hunters out there with fobs keyed to her biological signature. He killed her guards but the Client and his doctor crony are still at large. How can he know if things will be okay? What he does know is that he won’t…he can’t deny his role as her protector. And he won’t let anything happen to her.

In the dark, in the quiet of her whispered fears, he feels bold. He lifts his bare hand up and blindly reaches out until he feels the sudden, soft stroke of her cheek under his fingertips. He brushes his hand along the side of her face, cupping his palm against her cheek and then retreating almost at once. There and gone. The touch feels like fire on his nerve endings. His heart hammers in his chest and his breath is ragged. She’s so achingly soft and fragile. 

Runi leans into the ghost of his touch, seeking his hand in the empty air.

“Everything will be okay, Runi,” he says.

They both settle back down, marveling at the pleasant experience of feeling both safe and vulnerable at once as they drift off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up to a new life. Runi and Din seek out the Armorer for answers. Din assuages some of Runi’s uncertainty while leaving many elements of their future relationship in question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one weekend, alriiiight. I hope you enjoy this one! As always comments are amazing!

The sounds wake him all at once and he’s reaching for his blaster before his mind has time to catch up to his body’s instinctual movements. Din crouches, his powerful, lithe muscles taught beneath the fabric of his flight suit. His lips part in a stressed grimace as he scans the room for signs of an intruder. Nothing. Then he hears it again and he realizes his mistake.

Runi is crying out in her sleep, mumbled moans and half-formed words. He sets down the blaster and kneels by the bed. _Should he wake her?_ She’s writhing in the sheets and her auburn hair is a wild mass on top of her head. Her brows draw together as if she’s in pain. The cries get louder and then suddenly she’s lifting her hands to her face as if to rip off the blindfold. Din swallows his panic and claps a hand over her eyes without thinking it through. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either. He can’t risk breaking his honor, even for her.

Runi flinches and starts to struggle away from him. Not knowing what else to do, Din climbs up on the bed and wraps his other arm around her, keeping her still. 

He whispers into her ear, “Shhh, Runi, Runi, Runi. It’s me! Din. Your….you remember me? You’re here with me in the Covert. In my room. You’re safe here…shhh…” 

For several seconds she pants wildly and squirms in his grip, feral with fear and uncertainty. When she finally emerges from the fog of her nightmares he feels her relax against him, letting out a long breath. 

Runi, still shaking with the visceral memory of her dream, takes a moment to orient herself in reality. She feels the warm weight of Din’s palm and his calloused fingers on her face. His skin is hot and she feels the ghost of his heavy breath fan against her cheeks. He’s laying beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Through the blanket she feels the rise and fall of his chest against hers, the hot, immediate, bare truth of him so close. No armor, no helmet separating him from her.

“Din?” she asks, turning her body toward his and raising a hand to rest it on his chest. Din’s sharp intake of breath alerts her to her mistake and her hand flinches back as if burned. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot.”

“It’s alright,” Din’s voice is clearer and lighter without the vocoder. She finds herself memorizing the sound of it. _He’ll probably never take his helmet off around me again after this…_

Once he’s sure the blindfold is still in place Din immediately disentangles himself and retreats to the other side of the room. 

“You were having a nightmare,” he remarks, reaching for the armor rack and beginning the process of dressing himself. He already feels more grounded, more in control.

Runi sits up in the tangle of blankets and hugs her arms around her shoulders. She nods, “Yes…I was back with those bandits…”

Din is silent for an awkward moment as he fastens his breast plate and watches her. She looks so small wrapped up in his blankets with that lost look on her face. He can feel the sadness and disgust bleeding out through their bond and he hopes that the disgust is reserved for the _chakaars_ …the scum who hurt her.

“Runi…what they did to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

She nods vaguely in his direction, “I know that. But sometimes my feelings don’t, you know?”

He combs his fingers through his hair before securing the helmet. His voice comes out scratchy and distorted, “I know. You can take off the blindfold now.”

She pulls the strip of fabric down and lets it hang around her neck like a bandana. Even though she already misses the feel of his soft, warm body, she’s also relieved to have her vision back. And seeing her Mandalorian standing there in his fierce looking armor and the helmet she’s come to think of as his face since she has no other point of reference…well, he looks good. She can’t deny the swell of attraction she feels looking at his long legs and broad, powerful shoulders, even if it does cause a truly mortifying blush to spread over her cheeks. Din suddenly coughs to clear his throat and turns away pretending to fiddle with the armor rack. _Ugh…did he feel that? Embarrassing…_

But, honestly. It feels _good_ to be embarrassed, to feel any emotion other than fear. She’s been captive her whole life and she doesn’t know who she even is outside of a cage. Well, she knows one thing, now. She’s a girl who likes a man in armor. Guess she’s in the right place. What she still doesn’t know, though, is the nature of this bond between them. And she’s certain that Din knows at least part of the truth.

“So,” starts, standing up and walking toward him. When she’s standing before him she feels the difference in their heights and it sends a small thrill through her to stand so close to this man who dwarfs her but who won’t ever hurt her. “Can we talk about this thing between us now?”

Din looks down at her, his helmet quirked in that characteristic inquisitive angle. She wonders if he’s taught himself to use exaggerated motions to relay non-verbal cues like that.

“Yeah, we can. But,” he pulls on his cloak and adjusts it around his shoulders. “I don’t think I’m the right one to explain it…”

***

Din guides her through the Covert’s maze of tunnels. He’s holding her hand, a fact for which she’s eternally grateful given the parade of silent hostility aimed at her by the other Mandalorians in the hallways. The physical contact itself is soothing, but it also seems to increase their psychic connection. She can feel his protectiveness and concern just as he can sense her unease. Now that she’s been thoroughly evil-eyed by a dozen other Mandalorians, Runi is comfortable deducing that the attraction to Din is more than just the armor. Because these guys (and girls…she presumes) are just scary. She clings to Din’s hand with both of hers as they enter the Armorer’s chambers.

Inside, the room is dominated by a large, brilliant forge. Runi’s eyes are drawn to it until the Armorer herself appears and she can’t help but be captivated by the warrior’s confident demeanor, unique helmet and fur mantle. When she speaks Runi’s mouth hangs open in surprise. The Armorer is a woman! She cheers internally. After everything she’s suffered at the hands of men she can’t help the awe and satisfaction she feels knowing that it’s a fellow sister who seems to lead this tribe of warriors.

She can see Din’s helmet shift as he eyes her but she pretends not to notice. She’s trying to seem cool and collected on the outside. Social interaction, meeting new people… everything is new to her and she wants to get it right.

The Armorer comes to stand before them, her stance wide and clearly speaking to her authority, “Is this the one, Din?”

Din bows his head respectfully, “This is she.”

“Then you’ve succeeded in your mission. Congratulations. I sense great meaning in these events,” Her gaze shifts to focus on Runi as she asks. “What is your name?”

“Runi,” the girl answers, the new name still strange on her tongue. But she cherishes it. It’s a gift from Din.

The Armorer, recognizing the word for _soul_ in _Mando’a_ turns back to Din and quirks her head in a silent question. _Another head tilt. It’s got to be a Mandalorian thing…_

The vocoder emits a staticky hiss as he clears his throat, “She had no name when I found her, Armorer. This one seemed…appropriate.”

“Indeed,” she answers archly.

Din’s stance shifts a little and Runi feels the diffidence inside him as he asks, “She wants to know more about the bond between us.”

“Good,” the Armorer answers. “I wish to know more as well.”

***

The Armorer lays out everything that she’d explained to Din the day before. The concept of the soul bond, a permanent link between two souls destined for one another. The ancient rumors of a psychic link. And she marvels at the details that Din and his woman gradually reveal. Already, after so little time, they can feel each other’s emotion…even communicate, in a way, over distance.

“This is amazing,” she marvels, her voice tinged in uncharacteristic awe. “Din, I believe this to be a sign. You’ve found your sigil…and, I believe, you’ve formed a tribe of two. This is how it was in ancient times.”

Runi isn’t sure what it means for Din to have found his sigil or formed a new tribe, but she senses unease mixed with pride coming from him. 

“Thank you,” he says simply.

The Armorer is turning away and moving to the forge but Runi still has questions.

“But what does this all mean? I know how it’s affected us both but…what do we do now? Are we…” here she pauses and her face heats with an intense blush, “are we…married?”

It’s almost comical how Din’s head whips around to stare at her.

“No!” he insists, and then–less certain–turning to the Armorer, “Right?”

The Armorer actually laughs at the both of them, “A marriage can only take place when both parties have sworn to one another in a verbal vow. Have you done this?”

Din and Runi shake their heads in unison. It’s not as if Runi is eager to settle down and get married just days after escaping her life-long imprisonment! She just honestly does not know what they are supposed to do with the knowledge that they are soulmates. And she’s feeling unsure about where she she stands with Din… at this moment and in the future. She knows one thing for certain at least.

She clears her throat and tries to screw up her courage to voice her worry, “But we won’t…we won’t part from each other…right?”

Din can sense her fear and the small spike of rejection and he feels himself wither along with her. He reaches out a gloved hand and takes hold of hers. He tries to sound calm and unaffected as he replies, “No, we won’t. I will promise _that_.”

Runi is relieved for now. But his tone makes it seem as though there are other things that he won’t offer her. Things she’s beginning to think she wants very much. This attraction to him–it isn’t just the magic of the soul bond. She wants him to be hers in _every_ way. She just doesn’t know how to make that happen. In her life surrounded by enemies she’s never felt this desire for another person before. There was the dream of someone but…never the reality. Until now.

The Armorer, having had her fill of second-hand angst, turns back to the forge and begins the work of crafting a Mudhorn sigil for Din’s armor. When it’s finished and affixed to his pauldron she finally speaks, “You’ve attracted a lot of attention here so far. Bringing _aruetii_ **[an outsider]** into the covert…even your soulmate…won’t be overlooked. This isn’t the place for you both.”

Din looks over at Runi who is scuffing her feet and feeling very, very out of place.

“I know,” he says. “We need to move on. Find some place safe for a while until…well until we can lose the army of bounty hunters that still have her bio signature.”

“I wish you luck in your journey, Din…and Runi. You have a rare gift in each other. Don’t forget it.”

“Thank you,” Din says, bowing and moving to lead Runi out of the chamber.

He gathers her close to his side as they emerge out into the corridors, once again under hostile scrutiny from everyone they pass. They wind through twists and turns on their way back to his room. She has no idea how he can remember the way.

He turns to her as they walk, “We’ll eat and I’ll find you something warmer to wear and then we’ll have to leave. Tonight.”

Runi looks up at his inscrutable profile as she asks, “Where are we going?”

He shakes his head, guiding her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, “I don’t know…a sanctuary. If we can find one.”


End file.
